12. Princeton Brentley
Paisley, my baby mama, came out the house in a robe that wasn't tied all the way, a pink bra and black panties, which clearly wasn’t a matching set, house shoes, and a bonnet that was barely on her head.
Her hair was all over the place, and she walked straight up to me with her fucking hand out like she always did.
"You got it?" she asked, straight to the point.
No good morning. No nothing.
I kissed my teeth, leaning on my white Mercedes-Maybach S-Class. "Good morning to you too, Pais."
"PB, don't start this early. Just hand it here,” she had the nerve to say, and I chuckled.
I ain't say nothing right away because I was looking past her through the screen door. Rah, her other baby daddy, was on the couch, no shirt, blunt in his hand, feet up on the coffee table like he paid something in there. Nigga should’ve been getting up, going to work.
"So, we still doing this?" I asked.
"Doing what?"
"This. Where I pull up every other week with money for Summer, and your nigga sitting in there with his feet up."
She rolled her eyes so hard I thought they was finna get stuck. "Here we go again, Princeton, damn! Worry ’bout yo’ own shit." She tried to get loud, but that loud shit ain’t work with me.
"Nah, explain it to me because I be trying to understand, and I can't." I leaned off my car. "You got a man living in that house, you had a new baby by this nigga, moved him in, but you calling me about clothes for summer school? You don’t even be helping my baby with her fucking homework. Mrs. Wilamena said she’s a good kid but struggles with numbers and reading ’cause she don’t get to do it when she get home. Why the fuck is that?"
“Look! Summer school is your responsibility because YOU wanted her lil’ ass to go. She can read, add, subtract, and all that just fine. She be pretending," she said, patting her weave, and my jaw tightened. “And Rah don't gotta do nothing for her, PB. That's your daughter."
"See, that's where you wrong. And close ya fucking robe!" I knew she wanted me to see her body. She always tried to get a rise out of me, despite her having a man, but that ship sailed like a muthafucka.
"How am I wrong?" she quizzed, tightening her robe.
"Because at the end of the day, he’s a man." I raised my voice since she was clearly not understanding. "And a man supposed to step up in whatever house he laying up in!”
She scoffed. “I hear you PB."
I nodded at the house. “If he’s here, and y'all living together, and y'all doing the whole family thing in there, then why am I stopping what I'm doing to bring you money for her to eat?
Money for summer school clothes? I brought the book bags, the pencils, the folders, all of it, out my pocket.
And I don't mind none of that. That's my seed.
But when is he gone step up and do some stepdad shit? "
She looked off down the street. "Whatever. You have the money, you rich. What’s the problem?"
I didn’t even respond. I pulled the money out and put it in her hand, and she started counting it right there in front of me like she always did.
Me and Paisley were never together. We were never a couple, never dated, never had one conversation about being in a relationship.
Every venue, every after-party, every hotel lobby, there were hundreds of women tryna get at Ozy Love and whoever he had in his circle. They didn’t give a fuck what any of us looked like. They just wanted to be able to say they messed with him or his people.
Paisley was one of them girls. I met her, she said, ‘Oh, you Ozy Love’s lil’ brother?
’ Sucked me up, and man, that head was so fire I had to try the pussy.
We messed around for maybe five months, straight fucking, no dates, no kissing in the mouth, no matching PJs for Christmas, none of that shit.
Then she called me talking about she was pregnant.
And for the first five years, we were good.
Real good. Never had one issue. She was never the bitter baby mama, never kept my child from me, never played none of them games.
We could talk on the phone for twenty minutes about nothing.
She'd send me Summer's report card, and I'd send her money for her hair without her even asking.
Then Rah came around two years ago.
And I watched my daughter's mama turn into somebody I didn’t know.
She got short with me, started taking three days to answer the phone, needing money way more than she used to for stuff that ain't add up.
Pais started saying things I knew for a fact wasn't her words.
Sounded like somebody was standing right behind her, feeding them to her. And by somebody, I meant his broke ass.
And this the part that really get me. Rah knew exactly who I was and that Ozy Love was my blood. He was using her, and her dumbass was the only one who didn’t realize it.
"Pais."
"What?"
I examined her face, stepping closer to her. "Is he hitting you?"
Her hands stopped counting. Only for a second, but I caught it. She folded the money up and put it in her titty.
"No. Why would you ask me that?"
I ain't blink. "Are you lying to me?"
"No, PB. He ain't hitting me. Dang."
I held her eyes for a long time, but it was something behind them. I ain't push, though.
The screen door creaked.
Rah was in the doorway now, shoulder on the frame, blunt in his fingers. He ain't say nothing. Just looked at me. Took a pull, held it, then tapped his ash right on the porch, watching me the whole time.
He blew the smoke out the side of his mouth, still looking at me.
I wanted to rock his shit so bad, but I had way more to lose than he did.
Pais was right. I was rich. I made a killing being security for my brother, so much so that I created my own security business.
So not only was I his head of security, but my staff provided security to some of the biggest and richest names in the world.
I wanted for nothing, and I lived lavishly in a house that was half a million dollars. He knew that, so he taunted me with looks and laughs every time.
"DADDY!"
Summer came flying out the house past him, barefoot with her braids and hair beads swinging. Seven years old, going on thirty-nine.
"Hey, baby girl!" I scooped her up and kissed both her cheeks. She started laughing so hard. I swear, I loved my baby to death. She was my reason. "Where yo’ shoes at, lil’ girl?"
"I heard your car!"
I kissed her again, and she squealed. "Aight, listen. I'ma see you in a couple days. You coming to stay with me the whole week."
"The whole week?" Her eyes lit up, and she smiled wide, showing the gap from her missing front tooth.
"The whole week.”
"Ooo! Daddy, can we get ice cream?"
"We can get ice cream every day if you want."
She started dancing in my arms, and I couldn’t do anything but laugh. She was a character.
Paisley rolled her eyes on the sly.
I put her down and squatted so we were eye to eye. "Aye. In the meantime, I need you to be good. You hear me? Be good for your mama. Do what she say the first time, not the second time."
"Okay."
She threw her arms around my neck, squeezed, then took off back in the house like she was never out there. Rah moved to the side and let her past without even looking down at her.
My phone went off in my pocket. I didn’t even need to look at it to know who it was.
"Aight, I gotta go." I opened my car door. "Pais, call me if you need something for her. Not for the house."
She sucked her teeth. "Bye, PB."
“Hold up.” I stopped her. “And if you need me, ever, don’t hesitate to call me. Okay?”
“Boy, gone on.” She walked off toward the house, and I pulled off with the phone already at my ear.
The video shoot was in some warehouse downtown they turned into a club scene.
Shit was dope. Every time I saw what his set designers came up with, it was fire.
He was recording a video for his song, “Take Me Back,” with fake rain and shit.
It was ’bout to be fire. Cameras were everywhere, extras were getting dressed, security was ready for whatever, catering, hair and makeup, the whole nine.
My brother was standing in the middle of all of it with his shirt off and his arms out while two women oiled him down.
"Wassup, oily-ass nigga?" I said, dropping down in a chair by the monitors.
"Shut the fuck up." He tilted his chin up so ol' girl could get his neck. "Where you been?"
"Paisley called."
Ozy shook his head. "How much?"
“Three bands, but get this… whole time, her nigga was just sitting on the couch smoking, and it looked like he’d been putting his hands on her face.”
“Man, what the fuck?”
“It’s straight, bruh. You already know how I roll. I asked, and she said he wasn’t, but if I find out otherwise, that nigga is dead. I don’t want no fuck shit around my baby.”
“I’m already knowing, lil’ bruh.”
I sighed and shook my head. "How was your night though nigga? I heard you had Mrs. Thick Shyt in ya room.”
The way he smiled, I already knew it was something.
"It was good."
I waited, but he ain't say nothing else.
"Bruh." I sat up fast. "She let you hit?"
He waved the girls oiling him down away with their nosy asses. They were hanging onto his every word.
“Nah.” He smirked. “We ain’t fuck. We just talked and shit.”
"Bruh, stop playing...it’s me you talkin’ to."
"I'm dead serious."
I was looking at him like he grew a second head. I watched this man move through years of women. He wasn’t somebody who invited a female to a presidential suite to talk. “What y'all really do?"
He shrugged like it was nothing. "Talked. Drank. Fell asleep on the couch."
"Fell asleep?”
“Yeah, and I like her…real talk.”
I wasn’t expecting him to say no shit like that.
"Fuck out of here."
“Nah PB, she different. I could've had her out her dress in twenty seconds tops last night, but I wasn't even on that.”
I sat back and looked at him. He was serious as hell.
"“Damn,” I said. “Well, she might be good for yo’ ass.”
Ozy chuckled. “Yeah, maybe, bruh.”
I stretched out in the chair. “Aye, look, though… man, I’m still hot I missed that fight last night.
What happened? I went to the liquor store to grab a lighter since people keep stealing my shit.
When I got back, my staff said you dipped off to the room, and I took my black ass back to the crib and knocked out. ”
"Ain't nobody stealing your lighter. You be misplacing it. You know you one forgetful muthafucka."
I laughed. "Nah, somebody is.”
“Nigga, aight, but that old-ass lady tried to touch my dick. One of the other winners, I think her name was, uh…Ashley, started popping off, telling her to sit down. They got to throwing food and swinging. Security got they ass up outta there quick. That’s how I ended up in my room.
I was over that shit, and they threw hella food all over Noree.
So, when she went to go change her clothes and shit, I had Ky tell her to just come to my room and I had them send a fresh plate of food to my room for her. ”
I nodded. “Oh, you like her for real.”
He laughed. Shit was crazy. In a day, Noree’s ass had this nigga acting like he was in love.
“Well, check this out. While I was at the liquor store, I met a girl."
"Word?"
"Man." I shook my head just thinking about her. "Pretty as hell. Fun-size, but she had that slim-thick thing going on. Waist, hips, all that. And she was funny. We stood in the parking lot talking for a few minutes.”
"You got the number?"
“Man…who you talking to?" I smirked.
Right then, I heard two women behind us laughing, that real laugh where somebody can't catch they breath. I turned around out of habit.
Then I sat straight up. "Oh shit." I hit my brother's arm. "Nigga. That's her."
Ozy turned. "Where?"
"Right there. Pink top.”
His whole face changed. "Nigga, that's Noree's sister.”
I looked at him confused.
“She asked if she could invite her this morning."
And it hit me all at once. Last night in that parking lot, shawty was all excited, telling me how her sister was one of the people who’d won the contest while she was talking about her designs.
I had glanced at the winners when they first came in, but I hadn’t paid them much attention.
Business had been booming lately, so even though I was still my brother’s head of security, I didn’t have to be glued to his side like I used to.
I told him I’d pop in during the contest just to see what was going on this weekend, but I damn sure hadn’t put two and two together.
I started laughing. Couldn't help it.
"Damn," I said, standing up and fixing my chain. "Small world."
Ozy was still looking at me and smirked. “Where you going?”
I was already walking. “’Bout to go holla at her."